‘Your town; your choice. Just tell me when and where and I’ll pick you up.’
But Avery wasn’t about to give her address to a complete stranger, even one as appealing as Jonas Mercer. ‘If you’ll appear at the back door of the Angel about seven I’ll chauffeur you to the Fleece. It’s not far.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be waiting. Sleep well, Avery Crawford.’
She found she was smiling as she scrambled eggs later. And when she finally went yawning up to bed she felt pretty sure there would be no problem with insomnia after talking to Jonas Mercer—which was interesting. The encounter with a man she’d once been in love with had upset her so much she’d expected to lie awake all night, yet a few words from a virtual stranger and she was on an even keel again.
Avery slept so well she woke late the next morning and rushed out without breakfast to drive into town. Her thriving business functioned in a small shop in a short row of others just like it in Stow Street, near the largest car park in town. Frances arrived just after her, in such a euphoric mood it was obvious the evening had gone well. But before Avery could demand every last detail the rest of her little team arrived and the phone started ringing. The working day was in full flow, and she was due at her first appointment of the day.
‘I could be a while, Frances,’ she said, on her way out. ‘Squeezing Pansy Keith-Davidson into her grandmother’s wedding gown will take some doing.’
‘We’ll all pray for generous seams!’ Frances grinned conspiratorially. ‘I’ll fill you in about last night over lunch.’
Avery’s appointment was with one of the wealthiest families in the neighbourhood. To her gratitude, she was pressed to coffee and pastries before embarking on an assignment so time-consuming it took up the entire morning.
‘Quite a challenge,’ she told Frances, when she finally joined her in the café in Stow Street for lunch. ‘The bride’s mother told me quite frankly that she’d had her heart set on yards of train and a designer label originally, but Pansy read some article in a bridal magazine and changed her mind at the last minute. Vintage numbers are the latest must have, and if the number once belonged to Grandma it wins the jackpot.’
‘Can we do something with the dress?’ said Frances.
‘Oh, yes. It’s a slinky satin number, in thirties Hollywood style, but darling Pansy’s been on a punishing diet, so with inserts by you and some camouflaging embroidery from me all should be well. Mummy didn’t turn a hair when I warned her about the cost involved.’ Avery grinned. ‘And Pansy was so thrilled with my ideas she begged me to make dresses for the six little bridesmaids she decided on only yesterday, would you believe? The snag is the time frame. Due to the bride’s U-turn we’ll have to get our skates on. The wedding’s next month.’
‘We’ll manage that, no problem. Nice morning’s work, boss!’
‘Now, then, enough shop talk.’ Avery leaned forward, eyes sparkling. ‘Tell me about last night.’
Frances smiled dreamily. ‘It was lovely. Philip’s such a charming man it’s amazing he’s been a widower so long. His married daughter made him answer the ad, and he’s delighted now that she did.’
‘So he should be. What does he do?’
‘Accountant.’
‘You liked him, obviously?’
‘I took to him on sight—probably because he was almost as nervous as me to start with. But over dinner we talked non-stop, and he’s asked me out again on Saturday.’ Frances smiled radiantly. ‘Thank you, Avery. I owe you.’
‘Actually, you don’t owe me a thing. I’m having dinner with Jonas Mercer, the man from the Angel bar, tonight.’
‘Really?’ Frances’s eyes widened. ‘My word, that’s something new! What advantage does he have over the local male population?’
‘The fact that he’s not local, probably. But he’s quite a charmer, too.’ Avery grinned. ‘I’ll go halves for the ad you put in the paper.’
Avery rushed everyone off the premises dead on time that night, to get home to give her hair time to dry into its natural mane of exuberant curls. She fussed over her face more than usual, and changed her clothes twice before settling on jeans and a velvet jacket, irritated that she was behaving like an adolescent, and even more so when she found she’d arrived at the Angel car park a minute early.
But Jonas Mercer was there before her, in a khaki reefer jacket and needlecord jeans which suited his lanky dimensions even better than the suit of the night before.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling. ‘You needn’t have waited outside. You must be cold.’
‘You said seven, and you strike me as a lady who means what she says.’ He folded himself into the passenger seat and turned to her in awe. ‘That’s a glorious head of hair you’ve got there, Ms Crawford!’
Avery pulled a face. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to fight it tooth and nail to make it stay up every day.’
‘Then why bother?’
‘To present a businesslike image to my clients.’
He eased his legs out of her way as she changed gear. ‘If your clients are men they’d prefer your hair the way it is now, believe me.’
‘I deal mainly with women.’ She described her morning in detail, amusing him with her tale of excited bride and stressed mother.
‘I took a stroll round town this afternoon,’ he told her, ‘and I spotted Avery Alterations in the row of shops near the main car park.’
‘That’s headquarters, where the actual work goes on, but I travel to private homes to do the initial fittings. Here we are,’ she added as the inn came into view.
She drove through an archway big enough to accommodate the coaches that had once rattled through it into the cobbled yard beyond. These days the Fleece’s courtyard was full of cars, and Avery was pleased to find a space wide enough to park in easily. As they crossed the cobbles to the back entrance Jonas sniffed the air with anticipation.
‘If the food matches the smells coming from the kitchen windows we’re obviously in for a treat. Popular place,’ he added as he followed Avery into the main bar. ‘You bag the table by the window and I’ll get the drinks. Red wine again?’
‘Yes, please.’
The inn was buzzing, as usual, and Avery sat back, prepared to enjoy herself, confident that the meal, whatever they chose from the menu, would be good. She smiled in acknowledgement as someone waved to her, amused when more than one pair of curious eyes followed Jonas as he rejoined her. Avery Crawford, dining out with a man!
‘This place has been serving food since the eighteenth century,’ she told him. ‘I had my first grown-up dinner here, as a treat for my eleventh birthday.’
‘So you’re a native of these parts? How long has Avery Alterations been functioning?’
‘In one form or another for about twenty-five years.’
Jonas eyed her in surprise. ‘The sums don’t add up.’
‘My mother started it up at home when I was small. She was a qualified tailor and taught me everything I know. Eventually I was able to make my own dresses for my university balls.’
‘Clever lady.’ Jonas leaned nearer as the noise level increased. ‘Was your degree in fine art?’
‘No, maths.’
He grinned. ‘Snap—mine too. Right, then, Ms Crawford, you’re the expert here. What do you recommend?’
Once they’d given their orders Avery eyed her companion expectantly. ‘So what did you do after you graduated?’
Jonas Mercer sat back, relaxed. ‘After a gap-year backpacking round the world, supposedly studying other people’s transport systems, I joined the family business, as I’d always intended. Once he was sure I was up to scratch, my father decided on semi-retirement. With his guiding hand, I help run the show pretty much as it’s been run for decades— independent of help from bank or City. We’re in haulage, warehousing, some construction work, and so on. Remunerative, but not exciting,’ he added.
‘I think any successful business run for that length of time with no outside fina
ncial help is very exciting indeed,’ Avery assured him. ‘I used to work in the City, once upon a time.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Did you, indeed? Why did you leave?’
‘I’ll tell you some other time—our dinner’s approaching.’
Over the meal, which was as excellent as Avery had promised, Jonas made no effort to press her about her change of career. Instead he talked about his mother’s passion for gardening and his father’s golf handicap, and the various Mercer relatives who worked with him.
‘I have plenty of help to carry the load,’ he said wryly. ‘Would you like coffee?’
Coffee had an air of finality about it. And because this type of evening was missing from her life these days Avery was reluctant to let it end yet. She hesitated for a moment, then suggested they go back to her place for the coffee.
‘If you’re willing to walk back into town afterwards,’ she added. ‘It’s not far.’
‘I’d like that very much,’ he said promptly, and signalled to a waiter for the bill.
When they arrived at the four-square Victorian villa of Avery’s birth, Jonas looked on in approval as she switched off the alarm. ‘A sensible precaution if you live alone. Do you?’ he added casually, looming tall in the narrow hallway.
‘Yes.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Or did you think I was after some light entertainment while the man in my life is away?’
He shook his head, unperturbed. ‘I was thinking more of relatives.’
Her eyes shadowed as she led the way down the long narrow hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Not any more.’
‘It’s a lot of house for one,’ Jonas commented as he followed her into the large, welcoming room.
She nodded. ‘I had thoughts about selling or letting it when it came to me. But it’s been in the family since my great-grandparents took possession of it from new, and in the end I decided to stay put because at first I ran the business from home.’ Avery switched on the kettle, and shot a look at the man lounging at ease in one of the rush-seated chairs, his endless legs stretched out under the table. ‘Would you prefer something else to coffee? Whisky, brandy—?’
He smiled. ‘Would it destroy my image forever to ask for a cup of tea?’
Which, Avery assumed, was his way of saying he had no misconceptions about what else was on offer. ‘Tea it is—in which case we ought to drink it out of my mother’s best china cups in the sitting room.’
‘I’d rather stay here. So what did you actually do in the City?’ he added as he watched her pour boiling water onto tea bags.
‘I was regarded as something of a prodigy. By the age of twenty-five I was a fund manager for one of the big insurance groups, handling billions in retail and pension-funds assets.’
‘High-flyer,’ said Jonas with respect.
‘So was Icarus! But instead of flying too near the sun, like him, I left the City because my mother was ill.’ Avery’s face was sober as she set two steaming mugs on the table. ‘So what exactly brings you to this neck of the woods, Mr Mercer?’ she asked, taking the chair opposite.
‘My father heard of some reasonable land in this area. I’m here to check it out for building purposes.’
Avery welcomed the idea if it meant return visits by Jonas Mercer. ‘And is the site suitable?’
‘I’ve come up against one or two snags, but I’ll iron them out before I leave.’ Something in the dark eyes belied the indolence of his posture. ‘I’d like to see you again before I do.’
‘When do you go?’
‘Friday, if all goes to plan.’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘I’m free on Thursday.’
‘I suppose it’s too much to hope for tomorrow evening as well?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘I’m committed to a day of eye-crossing hand work tomorrow. I’ll be slaving away on it at home all day, and by evening I’ll be grumpy and tired, and no fit company for anyone.’
‘In that case—’ Jonas drained his mug and got up ‘—I’d better let you get to bed to shape up for it, and I’ll take myself off to practice patience until Thursday.’
‘I’ll look forward to that. Thank you for dinner, Jonas. I enjoyed the evening very much.’ To her surprise Avery felt flustered as she led the way to the front door. She was no schoolgirl on a first date, she reminded herself irritably. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss her goodnight.
But Jonas took her by the shoulders and bent his head to prove her wrong, with a kiss which packed such a punch her knees were trembling when he released her. He looked down at her for a long moment, and then kissed her again very thoroughly. At last he raised his head, trailed a finger down her flushed cheek, and smiled down into her startled eyes.
‘I’ll be here at seven on the dot. Goodnight, Avery Crawford.’
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN Avery made the decision to keep on her mother’s business she’d advertised for an experienced tailor and Frances White had entered her life—first as an employee, but soon as a valued friend. With Frances’s input the business had rapidly expanded enough to need premises in town, at which point Avery had engaged two former schoolfriends as skilled part-time help. This new arrangement had left Avery free to concentrate on the financial and advertising side, and on visits to clients for fittings. She had also been able to fine-tune her own particular talent for the embroidery and delicate hand repairs Avery Alterations had soon become known for in the neighbourhood. And if she sometimes yearned for the buzz and adrenaline of her past life in the City, Avery kept it strictly to herself.
She was in mellow mood next day as she settled down in the small spare room to work on Pansy Keith-Davidson’s vintage bridal gown. Unpicking seams in delicate fabric was tedious, time-consuming work, and normally Avery worked with the radio for company, or an audio book—preferably a thriller. But today she was thinking exclusively of Jonas Mercer—and his kisses. In the past she’d had her fair share of them, just like any other half-presentable female, but lately they hadn’t featured in her life at all. She knew there was more to it than that. With just a kiss or two Jonas Mercer had revived feelings she’d been utterly certain she would never experience again.
Avery found her hands had stilled, and she was staring blindly at ivory slipper satin instead of treating it with the respect it deserved. She pulled herself together sharply, switched on her thriller and focused her full attention on the work which represented a handsome fee for Avery Alterations.
It was late, and Avery’s eyes felt hot and dry by the time careful ironing had completed her day’s work. As she stepped out of the shower her phone rang, and she snatched it off the bathroom stool.
‘Good evening, Ms Crawford. Are you cross-eyed and grumpy?’ enquired a familiar voice.
‘I was by the time I finished for the day, Mr Mercer, but I’m better now,’ she informed him, rubbing at her hair.
‘Good. Have you spotted the coincidence in today’s crossword? Four across—“The architect of King Minos’s labyrinth at Crete.”’
‘Daedalus, who just happened to be Icarus’s daddy,’ she said smugly. ‘But some people work too hard to dally with crosswords, Mr Mercer.’
‘I stand reproved! I booked a table at the Walnut Tree, by the way, subject to your approval.’
‘I’m impressed. I’ve never been, but I’m more than happy to try it,’ she assured him.
‘It’s a fair distance away, so it means an early start. I’ll call for you at seven,’ he said again.
‘I’ll make a point of getting home on time.’
‘Here’s my cell number if you need to contact me.’
‘Hang on, I’ll get a pen.’ Avery ran into the bedroom and scribbled on the telephone pad on her bedside table. ‘Got it.’
‘Good. Thank you for taking pity on a lonely stranger last night, Avery.’
‘I enjoyed the evening very much,’ she assured him.
‘So did I. Very much indeed. We’ll do it all again tomorrow. Goodnig
ht, Avery.’
She felt very pleased with life after Jonas’s phone call, even after a look through her wardrobe—which confirmed that she owned far more in the way of business suits and jeans than anything frivolous. With no time to run something up, the only option was the dateless little black dress most women owned as standby. Jonas wouldn’t know—or care—that it dated from her City days.
Frances rang later, to report on the day. ‘Quite a bit of new work came in, but it’s just routine stuff. We can fit it in around the wedding order.’
‘Thanks, Frances. I’ve finished the first phase on the gown. Over to you tomorrow.’
‘Brilliant—but no resting on your laurels, boss. Mrs K-D rang this afternoon, asking if you could spare the time to have tea with her tomorrow afternoon to measure the bridesmaids. I said you’d ring to confirm.’
Avery groaned. ‘Lucky me! I’ll ring her now.’
Later, supper eaten and chores done, Avery wished that she’d said yes to this evening with Jonas Mercer after all. She liked him enormously for someone she’d known only a day or so.
After leaving university, where she’d played as hard as anyone else and worked a lot harder than most, her career in a male-dominated world in the City had inevitably brought her into contact with a lot of men. She’d disliked some intensely, liked others in a temperate kind of way, and during her time in London had been involved in two relationships that had been anything but temperate. But this instant rapport with Jonas was—different.
She heaved a sigh as she switched on her computer. Doing accounts was a poor substitute for an evening spent with the deeply appealing Mr Mercer.
When Avery arrived at the shop next morning she handed the garment box to Frances, went through the pile of mail, and found a letter that sent her high spirits into a nosedive. Morrell Properties were not renewing her lease. The premises must be vacated by the end of the next calendar month.
‘What’s up?’ said Frances, eyeing her face.
Avery showed her the letter. ‘My landlords are evicting me. They’ve never given me more than a half-yearly lease at a time, so I suppose this was always on the cards.’
Their Scandalous Affair Page 2
